


what you dont know about me is a lot

by woodswanderer



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:27:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24381271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodswanderer/pseuds/woodswanderer
Summary: Replaying DAI, you always feel like smacking yourself in the face during Solas scenes. Like it was all there, you should have known. This is what I think that translates to in-character.Everyone is drinking. Idril Lavellan knows things. Her bloodline is ancient and noble and what kind of an idiot does Solas think she is?
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Kudos: 19





	what you dont know about me is a lot

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by current playthrough of Inquisition and some alcohol I had. A Beesting is a real drink, half honey mead, half apple cider, they serve it at the maryland renaissance faire. I was drinking such a concoction when I wrote this. 
> 
> And yes, Idril is named for Idril, Princess of Gondolin, who coincidently, was the second elf in Middle Earth, to marry a human.

Idril was drunk. Drunk drunk. Cullen was even drunker, which was amazing. Iron Bull had roped him into a drinking contest, and Idril, needing no inspiration to see him let loose, had encouraged him. And now her love was sleeping under a table. She charged Varris with making sure he kept breathing and picked up a mug herself. 

Cabot had filled it with her special mix, the beesting, a mix of honey mead and hard apple cider. Slips down like an after dinner mint, then kicks you like a mule. “Sipping” her amber drink, Idril cast her eyes around Herald’s Rest, looking for someone to talk to. Her brain spun and her eyes landed on Solas. Solasssssssss. Ha. Egg man. Idril walked over to him.

“I know what you’re on about, Solas. I’m glad you’re my friend, but I know things,” Idril slurred, leaning against her mysterious friend. “I *know*. I know what you don’t know that I know.”

Solas took his drunken friend in stride. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, lethallin.” He took another drink of his wine. He drank only the fancy stuff, or not at all. That didn’t surprise Idril, who knew things.

Idril leaned against his shoulder and whispered in a singsong voice, “I know who you are. What you are. I know.”

Solas eyed her skeptically, “And what is it that you know, Inquisitor?” he said. 

“You are not what you seem. Your little backstory is the worst thing I’ve ever heard, including Varric’s books. I’ve seen you practice magic. No one does that just by themselves. And really, Solas? Pride. Well, pride goeth before a fall, and pride is what makes you wear a wolf’s jawbone around your neck.” Idril sharpened. “I’m not stupid. I know that you are only here by your own beneficence, and that you will do whatever you want. But, know that I have the grace and power of my ancestors and my namesake, and when your intentions start to go diagonal from mine and the world’s, I’ll take you down like a sick halla. You talk a big game, but you don’t know as much about me as I know about you. There is more truth in what you call lies than what you can imagine.”

Idril stumbled away, and Varric, ever the gentleman, stated that perhaps he could walk her back to the keep, seeing as Cullen was now sliding beneath a table. Idril agreed, and they left. 

The Dread Wolf watched her stumble away from beneath his eyelids, sipping his wine. Yes, he thought, perhaps she did know things. Perhaps. But that would not change anything.


End file.
